


The Con and the Gun

by Treon



Category: Person of Interest (TV), White Collar
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal and John meet, neither has any idea who they're up against</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for S2 of Person of Interest, and about S3 for White Collar. Intended for fans of both shows, with no necessary knowledge of either.
> 
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>  
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> **Person of Interest Intro:**
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> 
> After 9/11 **Harold Finch** \- a reclusive hacker and billionaire - was hired to program a computer to find terrorists. "The Machine" spies on every person in the US and sends an alert when it picks up a terrorist plot. However, it can also pick up any other plot or bad intention.
> 
> Finch built a backdoor into the machine. Every week the machine outputs the social security number of a person who is either about to be killed or kill others.
> 
> Finch hired ex-CIA agent **John Reese** to protect these people and stop the upcoming murder. Reese, who is himself wanted by the government, co-opted two NYPD detectives to help him out: **Joss Carter** and **Lionel Fusco**.
> 
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> 
>  
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> **White Collar Intro:**
> 
>  
> 
> Conman **Neal Caffrey** strikes a deal with FBI agent **Peter Burke** to get out of jail: he'll help the FBI solve White Collar cases.

Neal strode down the corridor as though he belonged there.  Getting access to this building was no problem.  He was wearing a respectable suit and looked like any one of the up and coming tenants.  A little chat with the doorman and he was waved right through.  
  
Now to the harder part.  
  
He nodded amicably as he passed a young blonde carrying two shopping bags.  1634, 1635..  Neal checked the numbers listed on the doors.  And there was apartment 1638.  He glanced back down the corridor to see if the coast was clear.  The woman had stopped three doors down.  She fumbled in her purse for her keys, trying to balance the bags against her hip as she did so.  Neal flashed her a smile.  "Need help with those?"  
  
Making sure the woman was safely inside her apartment, he retraced his steps.  Apartment 1638.  The guy had five locks on his door.  Better get down to business.  Assuming Rhodes was out for a cigarette run, Neal figured he had 15 minutes tops to get in and out.  
  
\------------  
  
John was standing on a rooftop overlooking their new number's apartment.  Chris Rhodes, 23.  A trust fund baby who lost his fortune in the stock market crash.  Though from what John could see, he was doing quite well for himself.    
  
"Rhodes is going out tonight."  He observed to Finch.  Through the wide picture windows he could clearly see their current target as he got ready for his big date.  
  
His partner was sitting in his library, eating a sandwich.  "It's a good time to set up surveillance."  
  
John waited until Rhodes left his apartment before he made his way downstairs.  A few minutes later, he was standing outside Rhodes' apartment.  "Looks like somebody got here before me."  
  
The door was ajar.  John ran his finger along its wooden frame.  The men he usually dealt with used force to break their way through, but this was an expert job - whoever did this managed to pick the locks very quickly and neatly.  One hand reaching for his gun, he carefully swung open the door.  
  
\------------  
  
Neal played his flashlight around the small studio apartment, stopping at the modern artwork on the walls for a thoughtful minute before he forced himself to get back to the reason he was here.  
  
A few months ago diamonds started surfacing around town with fraudulent certificates.  Somebody was laundering blood diamonds.  Peter was sure Rhodes was their guy - he'd been working in two of the shops from which the diamonds originated - but so far the FBI had no evidence to speak of.  Just Peter's suspicions.  And that wasn't enough to get a search warrant.  
  
Neal glanced again at the door.  He needed to be out of here before Rhodes came back.  A kitchen, bedroom, living area.  An entertainment center with every new toy on the market.  Neal wondered if this guy would hide his valuables in a safe, but then his flashlight picked up a desk in one corner.  It was set up as a home-office: computer, printer, fax machine.  Neal crossed over to the desk and took a quick look through the papers spread out haphazardly on top of it.  Mostly bills.  Then he tested the handles of the drawers.  One of them was locked shut.  Neal produced his lock-picks.  Not half a minute later the drawer was open.  Neal grinned to himself as he riffled through its contents.  
  
And there it was.. blank certificates.  The evidence they were looking for.  Neal stole another quick glance at the door before he put the forms down on the desk.  Then he produced his phone and took several pictures.  
  
Peter was going to kill him.  No doubt about it.  But after all the threatening and shouting and sighing and eye-rolling Neal will have to endure, the agent will find a way to use this to get Rhodes, and deep down inside he'll be thankful he has Neal Caffrey to do his dirty work.  
  
He put his phone back in his pocket and replaced the papers back where he found them, making everything look as neat as when he opened the drawer.  He was just about to lock the drawer when a quiet, raspy voice behind him asked, "Found what you were looking for?"  
  
Neal froze.  He hadn't even heard the man come up from behind.  Ever so slowly he straightened up and turned around, hands held far enough from his body to show he wasn't a threat.  
  
There was enough light streaming in through the windows that he could see the other man.  He was tall and wearing a suit, most probably armed.  He looked like a bodyguard, except that Neal was pretty sure Rhodes didn't have one.  Building security would wear some sort of uniform.  That left only one other option: this man wasn't here on legal business.  
  
Neal smiled disarmingly, his mind whirring as he tried to figure out whether he could talk his way out of this one.  Probably not.  Grabbing some of the papers from behind him, he threw them at the man, then made a mad dash for the door as they fluttered all around.  He didn't make it.  The man in the suit grabbed him and slammed him against the wall.  Neal was sure he heard a few bones crack.  "Who sent you?"  
  
"I can ask the same question."  Neal's hands grabbed for something, anything, to stop the other man advancing on him.  His fingers closed on a small iron statue on one of the shelves behind him.  With a grunt, he grabbed it and swung, aiming for the man's face.  The other man easily blocked Neal's attack and responded with a fist squarely in Neal's jaw, followed by another in his stomach.  Neal staggered back into the shelving unit, books raining down on him.  
  
Neal could feel the sweet taste of blood on his lips.  "Look, maybe we can talk this out, uh?"  
  
"Sure."  The man seemed dryly amused by this fight.  He dragged Neal up to his feet.  "Tell me what you've got against Chris Rhodes."  
  
Talk about a loaded question.  Was this guy trying to protect Rhodes from the FBI or wanting more ammo against him?  Neal tried a calming smile, but it just hurt too much.  "OK.  OK.  I'll tell you everything I've got."  He put up his hands in surrender.  His opponent let go and took a step back.  This was enough for Neal to try and make another run for it.  If he could only get outside, to the corridor, where it was safe.  He doubted this guy worked well in the spotlight.  
  
But once again, the man in the suit got to him first, throwing him cleanly across the room.  Neal's head hit the window-sill and he crumpled to the floor.  The last thing he saw was Mr. Suit, looming over him.  And then mercifully everything turned black.  
  
  
\------------  
  
"Mr. Reese, are you alright?"  That was Finch in his ear.  
  
"I'm surprised you're worried, Finch."  John had handled much tougher situations than this.  He knelt by the fallen thief, looking through his pockets.  "No weapons," he stated for Finch's benefit as he searched the other man.  "Though he does have a tracking anklet."  
  
"Breaking and entering while under police surveillance?" Finch mused on his end.  
  
John shook his head. "These guys aren't usually the smartest of the bunch."  He'd been living on the run forever, and he wasn't stupid enough to get caught.  If you didn't count Finch, that is.  "Oh, this is interesting."  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"He's got an FBI ID."  Reese reached for his phone to take a picture.  A second later the picture was on Finch's screen.  
  
"Neal Caffrey."  Finch pulled up records.  "Currently serving a four-year sentence for engineering a jailbreak.  Suspected art thief, forger, conman, convicted of bond fraud.  He works for the FBI's White Collar division, under the supervision of Special Agent Peter Burke."  
  
"Agent Burke is not doing too good a job of supervising.  Doesn't seem like he's here on FBI business."  John pointed out.  Not unless the FBI was into B&E.   
  
"He might be running his own business on the side."  
  
If Rhodes had gotten himself into trouble, it made sense he would be in touch with somebody like Caffrey.  "Guess it's time to call our friends, then."  
  
  
\------------  
  
When she finally answered her phone, Detective Carter didn't sound very happy.  "This is not a good time, John."  
  
He ignored it.  "I'd like to report a robbery."  
  
"Was there a homicide involved?"  She was Homicide Task Force after all, not John's cleanup crew.  
  
"Not yet.  But the robber in question might be a potential suspect."  Right now Caffrey was his top suspect and Carter could help John in figuring out what he'd been doing in Rhodes' apartment.  
  
"Suspect in what?"  
  
"I'll let you know."  He could hear Carter's sigh over the line.  
  
"Fine.  Give me the address."  
  
  
  
\------------  
  
Neal groaned as his eyes fluttered open.  He tried focusing, then gave up and closed them again.  His head was throbbing, every part of his body was hurting, and he felt like he'd just gone through a meat grinder.  His head lolled down on his chest.  Sleep.  He just wanted to go back to sleep.  But something was nagging at the back of his mind.  He had to do something.  What was it?  Oh.. yeah.   Run, run, run!  
  
He forced his eyes open.  Slowly, the room came into focus.  It was dark, and he couldn't make out much.  What was he doing here?  
  
A police siren somewhere outside spurred him to action.  It was only then that he realized he couldn't get up - both his hands were securely tied behind him and to the leg of a.. desk?  Everything suddenly came back to him.  The tall man in a suit, the papers he'd found, breaking into this place.  He had to get out of here.  
  
He struggled against the bonds holding him down.  There had to be a way out.  If only his head didn't hurt so much he could think things through.    He was never going to live this down.  The great Neal Caffrey, taped down to a desk.  It couldn't get any worse, could it?  
  
The door swung open with a thud.  "NYPD!  Freeze!"


	2. Chapter 2

Finch was sitting in the disused library that served as their headquarters, watching his computer monitor.  John had paired his phone with Rhodes' earlier that day, and now a call had come in.  The feed from the cameras John had installed in Rhodes' house showed their new number pacing back and forth frantically.  "Somebody broke into my house!  The police were all over the place!"  
  
The voice on the other end was cool and collected by comparison.  "The police won't suspect a thing.  Not unless you give up the game."  
  
Finch pulled up the records on the phone number.  Owned by Per Marten, importer-exporter.  
  
"I'm telling you, this guy was looking for the forms!"  Rhodes' voice went up an octave or two, reaching the level of an actual whine. "How could anybody know about that?!"  
  
"We'll take care of it."  
  
"But I-"  
  
"I said we'll take care of it.  You deal with your end, we'll deal with ours."  The line went dead, leaving Rhodes to continue pacing.  
  
\------------  
  
Sitting in the back of a taxi, Peter glanced impatiently at his watch as the vehicle inched its way through evening traffic.  Barely half an hour ago he'd been one of the many happy people thronging downtown to watch a show and eat out.  His movie night out with El had been cut short when Diana called to say Neal's been arrested.  
  
He'd forgotten to turn off the volume on his cell, and the sound of his ringtone did not amuse his fellow theater-goers.  They were even more upset when he answered the call, though he did try to keep his voice down to a whisper.  The guy behind him rudely kicked the seat a couple of times, until El turned around to glare him down.  
  
All Diana knew was that Neal had been arrested by NYPD Homicide, no further details.  It was like a nightmare coming true.  Neal arrested for murder.  Peter had told her to get a team ready at the office, he'll go down to the police station and try to find out what's happening.  He'd pecked El's cheek on the curb, just before he hailed a taxi, and promised to update her the minute he knew anything.  That was half an hour ago, and here he was, stuck in traffic.  Alternating between anger and worry, coupled with an uneasy overarching feeling of guilt.  
  
He shouldn't have told Neal how frustrated he was with this case, he should have known Neal would try to find a different - illegal - solution.  He shouldn't have let Neal know about his evening plans, he'd been too excited about finally having an evening to just go out, he hadn't thought about the implications for Neal.  
  
He'd already checked Neal's tracking data.  The conman had gone from the office straight to Rhodes' place.  Peter's stomach tightened as he went through all the possible scenarios.  Maybe Rhodes' surprised him while he was there?  Or maybe the police showed up and Neal panicked?  It made much more sense that it had all been an accident.  Neal couldn't kill anybody in cold blood.  Or could he?  Unbidden that image came to his mind, of the look in Neal's eyes when he trained his gun on Fowler.  What would have happened if Peter wouldn't have stopped him just then?  
  
The FBI agent glanced at his watch, realizing with annoyance that the second hand had barely moved since the last time he took a look.  He leaned forward and rapped at the panel separating him from the driver.  "Can't you hurry it up?"  
  
The taxi driver turned around with a smirk that quickly disappeared when he saw his passenger's face.  "Listen, man, can't fight traffic, uh?"  He gave his horn a token slap.  
  
"This is FBI business."  
  
The driver just waved a hand, as if it mattered.  Peter wished he'd taken his car, but how was he supposed to know his evening will end this way?  Truth was, he wasn't sure it mattered much.  Even his FBI car couldn't beat these traffic jams.  
  
  
\------------  
  
"Peter Burke, FBI.  I'm looking for Detective Carter."  Peter couldn't believe how such a simple task as tracking down a police detective could take so long.  The desk sergeant had first sent him to the wrong office, and it had taken some time to straighten out the mistake.  He'd finally found Carter's office, but now it seemed she wasn't at her desk.  
  
The chubby detective at the adjoining desk looked up from his work.  His nameplate said L. Fusco.  "She's over there.  Can I hel-"  
  
Peter turned on his heels, not even bothering to answer.  
  
"Come again, anytime." Fusco told the agent's receding back.  He turned back to his paperwork, muttering about FBI agents and their sense of entitlement.  
  
Peter found Carter standing by a filing cabinet, head buried in an open file.  "Detective Carter?  I'm special agent Peter Burke, with the FBI."  Peter produced his badge, though the detective didn't even spare either him or it a look.  "I'm here regarding Neal Caffrey.  You arrested him earlier this evening.  I'm his handler."  
  
Carter looked up at that last bit.  So this wasn't one of Donnelly's people.  "He's in interrogation."  She waved the folder in her hands towards the general direction of the interrogation rooms.  Carter had notified the department's FBI liaison officer, but given the lateness of the hour, hadn't expected to hear back from the FBI before the next morning.  She certainly hadn't expected anybody to rush over, as this agent had apparently done.  
  
"Yeah."  Peter nodded.  "Look, I'd like to take a look at the case-file.  This isn't like Neal at all."  
  
The detective raised a surprised eyebrow.  This guy thought she was stupid?  "Agent.. Burke?  Yes, I've got Caffrey's file on my desk *and* I asked around, and it seems to me this is pretty much his MO."  
  
Now it was Peter's turn to be confused.  "He might have threatened people in the past, Detective, but he's never killed anybody."  
  
"What?"  Carter blinked at Peter for a moment.  "Oh, no, he's being held for B&E."  
  
"Breaking and entering."  Peter repeated, feeling suddenly weak at the knees.  Neal hadn't murdered anybody.  Boy, did he feel guilty now.  How could he have even suspected otherwise?  
  
"That's right."  Carter could understand the agent's relief.  Having a criminal commit murder while under your supervision would probably end his own career, if not land him in jail.  
  
After the flood of relief came confusion.  "Wait.. so why is he here?"  
  
"Homicide?"  She continued at his nod.  "We answered the call.. got an anonymous tip.  We'll be transferring him after he gets processed."   After wasting twenty minute with the kid, Carter had decided to let him stew for a while.  He was all smiles and easy talk, but was quite intent on not answering her questions.  She put the file away and headed back to her desk.  Peter hurried to follow her as she made her way through the maze of desks and chairs and file cabinets that made up NYPD's Homicide Task Force.  
  
"Look, you should know Chris Rhodes, the guy Caffrey hit, is a suspect in an international fraud case."  
  
"You're telling me this was an FBI operation?"  Carter turned on him, brown eyes daring him to try and weasel his way out of this one.  
  
Peter was tempted to say 'yes', except that then she'd ask him for the op orders.  If he was Neal, he'd be pulling it off with nothing more than a guileless smile.  Only problem was, he wasn't Neal.  "No, it wasn't, not exactly, but there's been some sort of misunderstanding."  
  
"Hm."  After flashing his FBI credentials, Caffrey had claimed he had broken into that apartment as part of an FBI op.  Had even thanked the cops for coming to his rescue so quickly.  That line might have worked on other police officers, but not her.  She was sure John had a good reason for wanting this one under arrest.  So far, her instincts had proven right - the FBI hadn't filed an op order.  
  
Peter tried again.  "What I'm trying to say is that this is an FBI matter.  I'm taking custody of Caffrey."  
  
"Hold on.  I'm not going to set a criminal loose on the streets."  
  
"Nobody said anything about setting him loose."  
  
"Uh-uh."  She looked him up and down.  
  
"Caffrey is FBI.  He should be in our custody."  
  
"And he *would* be in your custody.  If he wasn't too busy breaking into other people's homes."  Carter was getting tired of this pointless argument and she'd had her fill of FBI agents who thought they could do whatever they pleased around here.  Resuming walking, she reached her desk and turned to face Burke again.  "Look, your guy isn't going anywhere before he's arraigned."  
  
"When's that going to be?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning."  
  
Peter scowled at her, knowing he wasn't going to get much more than that.   Besides, spending the night in jail might do Neal good.  "Fine.  But I want to speak to him."  
  
Carter considered the agent for a long, silent moment.  "You have 15 minutes."  
  
  
\------------  
  
Neal looked up when Peter entered.  "Peter!"  He leaned back in his chair with that ever-present smile on his face.  As though he wasn't sitting cuffed in a dingy interrogation room.  
  
"Neal, I-"  Peter stopped mid-step when he saw Neal's bruised face.  His right cheek was developing a distinct purple hue, and Peter picked up the blood stains on Neal's dress shirt.  His anger quickly dissipated into concern once more.  Taking three long steps he rounded the table in the center of the room and crouched by his CI.  "What happened?!"  He extended a hand to tilt Neal's face into the light.  "Did the police do this to you, because if they-"  
  
"No, Peter, stop.  It wasn't the police."  Neal swatted Peter's hand away.  Not an easy feat with his cuffed hands.  
  
Peter glanced over at the one-way mirror covering the length of one wall, certain Carter was observing them.  "Then who-?"  
  
"This guy showed up while I was there..."  Neal's eyes flashed with excitement.  "I'm telling you, we're on to something big here."  
  
Peter wasn't easily deterred, though.  "Did they at least get a doctor to see you?"  
  
"I saw a medic, said I'm perfectly fine," Neal allowed before trying again to focus on the important issue at hand.  "Peter, listen.  Rhodes got fake certificates at home, all empty."  It wasn't exactly the crowning victory Neal thought it would be, but he was still proud of his achievement.  
  
Peter sighed, wondering if Neal would ever learn.  "You know I can't use that in court."  
  
"No, but I'm sure you can use it.  And we know we're after the right guy."  
  
Peter nodded.  
  
"I took pictures, but this guy showed up.  He's got my phone."  Neal had only realized his phone was gone when he was brought into the police station and told to hand over all his valuables.  He was sure he'd put his phone in his pocket before the tall man showed up, but by the time he got to the station, it was nowhere to be found.  
  
"What guy?"  Peter had trouble following the story.  
  
"I don't know who he was, but he's tall," Neal pursed his lips in thought, "I'd say about your height.  Not very talkative guy.  He wanted info on Rhodes, probably a competitor."  
  
Peter wished he could have had this info without his partner getting into trouble.  He dropped his voice to a whisper, "I don't know if I can save you, Neal.  NYPD are seeing red on this case, and I don't know why."  
  
"I know."  Neal turned serious.  
  
"OK.  Look, Neal, they'll arraign you in the morning.  I'll be there and get them to transfer custody."  Peter sighed, knowing this wasn't the first or last time he was going to ask this.  "Do me a favor.  Don't try to pull anything between now and then."  
  
  
\------------  
  
Outside the interrogation room, Fusco joined Carter.  Through the observation window he could see the FBI agent and his CI inside, huddling in conversation.  "Anything interesting?"  
  
"I think we've got this one all wrong."  Carter answered, deep in thought.  
  
"You're saying our avenging hero is wrong?"  Fusco glanced at her, surprised.  
  
"Maybe on this one."  She glanced at her watch.  The agent's fifteen minutes were up.  "We'll have to see, I suppose."  
  
A minute later Carter opened the door to the interrogation room.  "Time's up."  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow."  Peter squeezed Neal's shoulder, a move he quickly realized was a mistake when the other man winced in pain.  He mumbled a quick apology, then stood up to follow Carter out.  "Caffrey's an FBI informant," he spoke up the minute the door closed behind him.  "He needs to be in protective custody."  
  
"Sure, we'll give him the executive suite," Fusco piped up before Carter could respond.  "I'll even tuck him in for you."  
  
Peter gave him a look full of daggers.  "Anything happens to him, I'll have both your hides."  Turning back to Carter he motioned with one hand back at the closed door.  "Caffrey says he was attacked in that apartment.  Have you looked into that?"  
  
"I can assure you, Agent, we're looking into every aspect of this case."  Carter answered blankly.  
  
"Right." Peter looked at both detectives carefully.  He'd used this line before, usually when he wanted somebody off his case.  "I'd like to take a look at your case-file."  He glanced at the time.  Something was off here.  It was going to be a long night, but he intended to dig through everything he could before Neal's arraignment.  
  
  
\------------  
  
"Morning, Finch."  Reese strode in the next morning with two cups of coffee he'd picked up down the street.  He set one down on Finch's desk.  
  
"Guess who's our new number?"  Finch glanced at the coffee, then turned to look at his partner.  
  
John really didn't want to guess.  He left Finch hanging for a full twenty seconds of silence before his boss finally gave up.  "Neal Caffrey."  
  
For some reason John wasn't as surprised as much as he'd thought he'd be.  Putting his own cup of coffee down, he reached for his phone.  
  
Carter answered two rings later.  "John.  What is it now?"  
  
"Neal Caffrey.  Do you still have him?"  
  
Carter shook her head, though she knew John couldn't see it.  "He's on his way to court.  Why?"  
  
  
\------------  
  
Neal was sitting in the back of a police cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back, head lolling back against the headrest.  It had been a terrible night in an overcrowded cell full of drunks and disorderlies.  He'd almost forgotten how much he hated being stuck in a cell.  That bright idea to go find evidence on his own didn't seem so bright now, which he supposed was the reason Peter had left him by the police for the night.  
  
His musings were cut short by a shout from one of the officers up front.  "Watch out!"  And then the car swerved wildly, careening across the road.  A loud crash followed as it rear-ended two parked cars.  Not strapped in, Neal was thrown hard against the metal grill partitioning the car.  From his vantage point, he could see the driver, under the heavy bulk of the inflated airbag, trying to reach for his gun.  Then he heard two pops in rapid succession, and the driver's arm fell back.   
  
Neal didn't have much time to think about it.  A second later the door to his right opened, and two hands grabbed his jacket, dragging him out.  Blinking in the sudden glare of sunlight he faced two masked men.  He couldn't help but notice that both of them were carrying guns.  Great.  
  
"That's him."  One man nodded to the other.  But before Neal could discover what they wanted, the man holding him doubled over, blood staining his pants-leg.  The other man soon joined him in writhing in pain on the ground.  
  
Neal's heart was beating furiously.  One of the men was reaching for his gun, but another gunshot rang out, and he was soon lying very, very still.  Neal had hoped to see Peter appear to his rescue.  His breath caught in his throat when instead he caught sight of the tall guy who'd beaten him up the previous night.  Neal glanced at the two men on the ground, then back to John.  
  
John kicked their guns out of reach.  "Let's go."  He took Neal's arm in one hand, propelling him forward.   
  
Neal stumbled, but managed to regain his footing.  "Where are we going?"  His savior, if that's who he was, didn't answer.  
  
John's eyes constantly scanned the area, and only relaxed slightly when the two men reached his car.  "Get in."  John said shortly, pushing Neal into the front passenger seat.  He put a hand to his ear.  "I've got Caffrey."  
  
And then they were on their way.  Neal tried to find a more comfortable sitting position. "I don't think we've been properly introduced.  Name's Neal Caffrey."  He waited a moment, but got no reply.  So much for small talk.  "Where are we going?" he tried again.  
  
John was trying to keep an eye out for anybody following them, while following Finch's navigational instructions.  Caffrey's babbling in his other ear wasn't helping any.  
  
Back in their headquarters Finch was following John's progress by tapping into his phone's GPS.  "There's a safe house five minutes drive after you pass the bridge."  He paused in thought, "How did they know where to find Caffrey?  We might be dealing with a case of HR."  
  
"I'll have Fusco ask around."  John replied, but then another thought occurred to him.  "The anklet."  He glanced at Neal's ankle, where the tracking anklet was flashing green.  
  
"Caffrey's tracking anklet.  It's possible."  Finch agreed.  He started typing on his computer.  "I'll take care of that.  You worry about getting Caffrey out of danger."  
  
"I'm not sure that's possible." John replied dryly, eyeing the conman sitting besides him.  
  
Neal glanced back.  His driver was obviously not working alone.  But soon something else drew his attention.  His anklet had turned dark.  Neal peered at it in surprise.  "How did you do that?"  
  
He didn't get an answer to that either.  Neal had no illusions where this was going - this guy had beaten him up once, and he didn't intend to wait around till he'd do it again.  Neal had already managed to pick his cuffs, and now all he had to do was to make use of the first opportunity he could to get out of here.  
  
Indeed, he didn't have to wait long.  The driver soon turned onto a bridge, and the car quickly slowed in traffic.  Neal took a deep breath, and jumped out, rolling as he hit the ground.  
  
"Hey!"  John cursed silently, then got out of his car, ignoring the onset of furious beeping drivers.  
  
Caffrey had already zigzagged across the lanes, and climbed onto the bridge railing.  Balancing, Neal turned, and for a moment the two men locked gazes.  Then Neal shot John a quick grin.  And jumped.  
  
Reese ran to the railing, scanning the waters below.  "Finch, we have a problem."  He didn't see anybody surfacing.  
  
There was no response on the other end of the line.  "Finch?"  John put a hand to his ear piece, then dropped it down to his jacket pocket.  His phone was gone.  Why, that stupid, criminal ingrate..  If Caffrey didn't die pulling that stunt, he would soon wish he had.  The little twerp had his phone!


	3. Chapter 3

Finch sipped the coffee John had brought up.  He'd probably make a fortune if he'd open up a sidewalk stand selling real, hot coffee.  Plain, no thrills.  He'd been surviving on instant garbage for so long, his taste buds were starting to forget what normal food tasted like.  
  
As it were, he now had more important things to work on.  The glass window pane they used as a whiteboard was already starting to fill up with info about their new numbers.  First, Chris Rhodes: the young man who seemed to have gotten involved in very nasty business.  Next to him hung a mug shot of Neal Caffrey, the convict John had caught sneaking into Rhodes' apartment.  The Machine had picked Caffrey out too, which meant that he was either a threat, or about to get into serious trouble.  For now Harold marked him with a question mark.  
  
And then there was Per Marten, an importer-exporter with offices around the world: London, New York, Antwerp, Johannesburg and Mumbai.  On the surface all legal, but Harold had already started to review his finances.  Marten had accounts under various names and shell corporations.  The guy had millions of dollars squirreled away, right under the noses of his board of directors.  He was definitely a threat, possibly to both Rhodes and Caffrey.  
  
"What do you think, Bear?"  The Dutch-trained dog John had gifted to him, was lying by his feet, gnawing on a bone.  For a dog, he had quite a comfortable life around here.  At the sound of his name, the dog perked his ears up.  "Rhodes' seems to have gotten himself mixed up in Marten's business.  And I think we know how."  
  
John had procured Caffrey's phone and Harold had dumped its contents.  The phone was nearly sterile clean, but as far as Finch was concerned, it was a goldmine.  One of the pictures Caffrey had taken the previous night in Rhodes' apartment - forged certification for diamonds - was hanging on the board.  Rhodes was involved in diamond smuggling and forgery.  No wonder Caffrey was interested.  But the convicted forger had no idea who he was up against.  
  
Harold's musings were cut short by a call from John.  "I'm behind Caffrey's transport right now, and they're about to get ambushed."  
  
"That would probably be Mr. Marten," Finch warned.  "Watch yourself, Mr. Reese."  
  
Finch wondered why he even bothered.  Through the phone link he listened to the drama unfold, knowing there was not much he could do.  Hobbling over to his desk, he brought up a GPS map off Reese's phone.  
  
A few more tense moments passed before he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.  "I've got Caffrey."  
  
Finch checked his friend's location again.  John was already on the move, approaching the Manhattan Bridge.  "There's a safe house five minutes drive after you pass the bridge."  Finch assumed John would want to get him off the streets as quickly as possible.  He had no idea how the ambush developed, but knowing John, he figured John had left behind a couple of wounded men.  It wouldn't take long for the police to start a manhunt.  
  
"How did they know where to find Caffrey?  We might be dealing with a case of HR."  
  
John mumbled something about Fusco and then came up with another solution: "The anklet."  
  
Right.  
  
"Caffrey's tracking anklet.  It's possible."  Finch agreed.  It would have to be dealt with anyway if they wanted to avoid police interference  "I'll take care of that.  You worry about getting Caffrey out of danger."  
  
"I'm not sure that's possible." was John's laconic reply.  Finch was already immersed in the Marshals' database.  It took Finch five minutes to slip in and locate Caffrey's tracker.  Taking it offline without triggering an alert was even simpler.  Luckily for law-enforcement, he was on the right side of the law.  Mostly.  
  
Quite satisfied with his achievements, Harold turned back to the map on his screen.  "Mr. Reese, after you pass the bridge turn right."  
  
There was no reply.  "Mr. Reese?  Can you hear me?"  Again, no reply.  "John?!"  
  
Harold glanced again at the screen, and blinked in surprise.  John's phone was now moving down the river.  "Not good." He murmured to himself.  Several possible reasons flashed in his mind, each one more depressing than the previous ones.  Best case, John dropped his phone.  Or he might have decided to go for a swim.  Or somebody else might have decided to throw him in.  Finch was hoping for the best, but he would have to assume the worst.  
  
He whistled to the dog as he started towards the door.  "Come, Bear.  We're going for a ride."  
  
\--------------  
  
Peter glanced at his watch, the one thing he seemed to be doing with any regularity recently.  He'd been waiting for Neal at the courthouse for half an hour already, and his back was starting to ache from sitting on the wooden bench out in the hallway.  He doubted Neal would appreciate the effort he was putting into this, but he did feel responsible for the younger man.  Neal broke into Rhodes' apartment because he wanted to help the FBI out.  He wanted to help Peter out.  It was a misguided move, but it was a step Peter could appreciate as being a small baby-step in the right direction.  
  
Which was the reason Peter was spending his morning in this drafty courthouse, watching lawyers and plaintiffs come and go.  If it came to it, he had a federal warrant for Neal's arrest in his pocket.  He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but by hook or by crook, he intended to leave the courthouse with Neal in his custody.  
  
He tapped the hand-rest absentmindedly, stealing one more look at his watch.  Even with mid-town traffic, how long did it take to transport a prisoner?  His ringing cellphone cut through his thoughts.  "Burke."  
  
"Peter, we have a problem." Peter's gut tensed at the sound of urgency in Jones' voice.  
  
"A problem?"  
  
"NYPD just put out a BOLO for Caffrey."  
  
"WHAT?!" A few heads turned and the low buzz of conversation around him came to a sudden halt.  Peter shrugged apologetically before continuing in a whisper.  "He's in *their* custody!"  
  
"Not anymore."  Peter could imagine Jones hunched over his desk, trying to give Peter the info before it became public knowledge in the office.  "Says here he's suspected of being involved in the shooting attack of two officers. 'Should be considered armed and dangerous'," he quoted.  
  
Peter screwed his eyes shut.  This wasn't happening.  This wasn't happening.  But when he opened them again, he was still in the courthouse, with Jones on the phone.  "That's ridiculous."  
  
"Yeah, well, you better get down here."  
  
Peter hung up without another word.  NYPD were.. well, there was no easy way to say this: cops.  It took a certain type of genius to start a manhunt for a guy you could easily find by picking up a phone.  
  
"Electronic monitoring compliance unit."  An impersonal female voice answered on the second ring.  
  
"I need the current location of detention tracking anklet 93-05-alpha.  Caffrey, Neal."  
  
"One moment, please."  He waited on the line for what seemed like hours before she got back to him.  "I'm sorry, but we're having technical difficulties."  
  
Uh?  "You mean he cut his anklet?"  
  
She hesitated.  "No, sir.  But we are having technical difficulties assessing its current location."  
  
What the hell?  
  
\--------------  
  
Jumping into the East River turned out to be one of those things that seem like a good idea at the time, but after a bit of thought - not so much.  Neal was lucky to have made it alive.  But even so, as he climbed out of the river, trailing water everywhere, his main concern was the fact that his hat was gone and one of his favorite suits was now totally and completely ruined.  There was no way he was going to dry clean the river scum out.  
  
Neal climbed over the fence that separated the street from the river.  Dropping down on a grassy patch of dirt to catch his breath, he reached into his inner jacket pocket for the phone he'd stolen.    Even if it didn't work after being submerged in water, he hoped Mozzie would be able to dump some of its info.  It was his only  
way to find out more about the guy who had abducted him.  
  
The phone almost dropped from his fingers when it suddenly rang.  The screen flickered, and he could make out a few letters of a name.  "ter".  On a hunch, he tapped the button to accept the call.  
  
\--------------  
  
Sitting hunched over her desk, Carter waited for John to answer his phone.  Homicide Task Force was a madhouse, police officers rushing back and forth, orders being shouted every which way.  NYPD was not going to take an attack on a cop quietly.  "John, can you hear me?"  she whispered once he picked up.  
  
She didn't wait for a response, she didn't have a lot of time.  "If you've got Caffrey be aware every policeman in New York is looking for him right now, and they're most likely to shoot first and ask questions later."  
  
There was no response.  "John?"  And then the line went dead.  Something was wrong.  She raised her eyes to meet those of her partner, across their shared workspace.  
  
Fusco shrugged, recognizing the look in her eyes.  "Our caped crusader can take care of himself."  
  
She nodded, but that unsettled feeling in her gut didn't go away.  She had no idea how John was involved in all of this, but the wounded men the police picked up at the scene of the ambush were a sure sign John had been there.  She knew very well that John could take care of himself, but even he was not invincible, and her instincts told her this was one time when he might need help.  She started tapping out Finch's number, when her boss stuck his head in the door.  "Detectives, over here!"  
  
With a quiet sigh she slipped her phone back into her pocket.  The call would have to wait.  
  
\--------------  
  
Neal could practically hear his heart beating wildly as hung up the phone.  This was a conspiracy way beyond even Mozzie's dreams.  He was 100% certain the woman on the other end of the line was the same police officer who'd arrested him, and she was in league with the guy who beat Neal up and then abducted him!  
  
John.  At least now he had a name, though Neal doubted it was a real one.  So Detective Carter and this John were working together.  No wonder the police showed up so fast after he'd met the guy.  What had Peter said?  That he couldn't understand why the police were so fixated on Neal's case.  Turns out the answer was right under  
their noses.  
  
It was just too much to process.  He had to call Peter.  
  
His fingers hovered the phone, hesitating.  If this guy - John - had the NYPD in his pocket, he might have somebody on the inside in the FBI too.  Somebody who knew about the Rhodes case.  Neal glanced at his anklet, which was still dark.  He apparently had somebody inside the Marshals.  After Kramer, after Ellen, was there such a thing as being too paranoid?  
  
The key to everything was Rhodes.  Catch Rhodes, and he might have a chance to bring down John too.  All of which was not going to happen if he brought Peter in.  
  
Pocketing the phone he decided he'd call Peter, later.  First he needed to regroup and come up with a plan.  Sitting out here by the river was going to attract attention, and he had to take the detective's warning at face value, he couldn't be found by the police.   He knew  Mozzie had a safe house in the area.  That would be his first stop.  
  
\--------------  
  
Slowing down the car to park by the sidewalk, Finch took a quick look on the laptop he left open on the passenger seat.  Bear, sitting behind him, stuck his head to take a look as well.  "Bear, move." Harold gave the dog a quick shove.  According  to the the GPS, John's cell was a few feet ahead of him and to his right, on the other side of the street.  With growing concern, Harold scanned the street.  There was no sign of John.  
  
Not good at all.  
  
In fact, there was no sign of anybody.  Which didn't make sense - the phone could have been dropped into the river, but there was no way it had hopped back out on its own.  
  
Just then a head popped up, and Harold realized there *was* somebody there, lying by the bank of the river.  The man glanced around uncertainly, running a hand through his hair.  Finch recognized him immediately.  "Mr. Caffrey.  What are you doing with Mr. Reese's phone?"  He'd gotten used to voicing his thoughts to John, it was hard to stop even when he knew there was nobody else to hear them.  
  
Caffrey straightened his jacket, which Harold now realized was soaking wet, and then, before Finch's very eyes, completely transformed.  Self-assuredly, he stepped into the road, hurrying with determination like any other young man rushing by life.  
  
Harold reached for the door handle.  Last he spoke to John, Caffrey had been with him.  And now, obviously, he wasn't.  But just then his phone rang, and he leaned over to connect the call on the car's loudspeaker.  "Yes?"  
  
It was John.  "Finch, we've got a problem.  I've lost Caffrey."  
  
"I've got eyes on him, Mr. Reese."  Harold rubbed Bear's head, relieved.  "He seems to have your phone."  
  
John didn't even dignify that with a response.  
  
"Don't take your eyes off him.  Our newest number has a death wish, and if I-"  
  
"Oh, wait." Finch interrupted, seeing a new call come on his laptop.  "Rhodes is getting a call."  He glanced towards Caffrey - the man had stopped to take a look at the ringing phone - then back to his laptop screen.  John's phone was still paired to Rhodes' cell.  
  
Now that he knew his friend was safe, Harold couldn't help himself.  "Don't worry, Mr. Reese.  I'm pretty sure Caffrey will be serving as your answering service."  
  
\------------  
  
Finch's program identified Marten's phone as the caller, Rhodes was on the other end.  "Yes?"  
  
Marten didn't waste time getting to his point.  "Grand Central, 5pm."  
  
"That's Per Marten." Finch added for John's benefit.  
  
Rhodes didn't sound happy.  "I don't know if that's a good idea.. after everything.  Maybe we should lay low for a while."  
  
Marten wasn't about to take no for an answer.  "I told you I took care of our problem. Bring the forms with you."  
  
"But-" The phone line went dead.  "Hello?"  
  
"Looks like Rhodes wants out of the game."  Harold mused once Rhodes hung up on his end.  
  
"They won't let him out alive."  John added.  "But maybe we could solve both our problems - get Marten to step out of the shadows."  
  
Harold glanced at Bear in the mirror. "How do you propose we do that?"  
  
"I think we know someone who might be up to the challenge," John answered as dryly as ever.  
  
Harold blinked.  "Who?"  
  
It took a second for Finch to realize what John had in mind.  He automatically looked up from his computer towards the last place he saw Caffrey.  The con-man was gone.  "Right."  With a short whistle to Bear, Harold opened the car door.  "I'll go find him."  
  
  
\--------------  
  
Neal made sure he wasn't being followed before he slipped into a side street and up a flight of stairs.  He'd used this particular safe house in the past, back when Peter was Agent Burke and he'd been a criminal on the run.  Letting himself in, he realized it hadn't changed since.  It probably hadn't been used either.  Every surface was coated with a thick layer of dust.  All of which probably meant that Mozzie had deemed it not 'safe' anymore.  
  
Still, it would have to do.  
  
Taking off his jacket, Neal tossed it onto the back of a chair, then loosened his tie.  His soggy shoes were the next to go.  What Neal needed right now was a warm shower and a clean change of clothing, but the apartment offered neither.  
  
Whoever this John was, he had capabilities which rivaled those of the FBI, but at least now Neal had an edge.  He knew about the meeting.  He wasn't sure what was going down there, but he could hazard a pretty good guess.  Now he just had to find a way to get Peter to be there and make the arrest, without getting himself arrested first.  Couldn't be simpler.  
  
A knock on the door caused Neal to stiffen.  "Mr. Caffrey, we need to talk."  
  
They knew who he was, and they knew where to find him.  Whoever 'they' were.  
  
He could still escape through the window, but the outside offered its own dangers.  Tip-toeing over to the door, he looked through the peephole.  The man on the other side of the door - short, balding, wearing glasses - did not look menacing.  Looks could be deceiving, though.  "Who are you and what do you want from me?"  
  
"I'm here to help you."  Neal noticed the man had avoided answering the first question.  
  
"I'm unarmed."  Finch raised his hands.  
  
Neal figured he had nothing to lose.  He opened the door a crack.  "Talk about what?"


	4. Chapter 4

  
"You want to get Chris Rhodes for diamond smuggling," Finch started off once he was inside the apartment. Neal hadn't offered him to sit down, and he didn't ask. Bear looked up at his master, assured from his demeanor that he wasn't currently in any danger. Still, he kept a watchful eye.  
  
Neal eyed the dog, then crossed his arms over his chest. "And if I do?"  
  
"Rhodes is a nobody. He got caught up in the excitement. I'm sure you know how that goes." Finch's eyes didn't leave Neal's. " _This_  is the person who should really go down for this." He fumbled in his briefcase for a minute and then handed Neal a picture.  
  
Neal glanced down at it for a second. The guy didn't look familiar at all. "Who's this?"  
  
"His name is Per Marten. He's the puppet-master controlling Rhodes. He's also the guy who tried to kill you."  
  
Neal glanced up at the short, funny man who had popped up at his door, and chuckled. "Why should I believe you? I don't even know your name."  
  
Finch ducked his head at that. "Harold."  
  
As if Neal was supposed to feel better with that. "Okay. I still don't trust you."  
  
"I believe you have my partner's phone." Neal didn't bat an eye. "So you know Chris set up a meeting at Grand Central this evening."  
  
After a short pause, realizing Caffrey wasn't going to respond, Finch continued with a light tap on the picture. "This is the man he was talking to. We want Marten where he belongs, in jail, and you can help us."  
  
Neal shook his head in wonder. These guys were really something. With tentacles in every branch of government, what did they need him for? He handed the picture back to his guest. "I'm sorry. I have no idea who this guy is, and thanks to you, I have enough troubles of my own right now."  
  
Finch took the picture with a quick shake of his head. "Do I need to remind you this guy tried to kill you? Marten doesn't like leaving loose ends. Sooner or later, he's going to try again." Harold had thought he would have an easier time of convincing Caffrey. The conman was obviously willing to take risks, and this mission was practically tailored for him.  
  
"Yeah," Neal smiled sweetly, "I'll take my chances. So, if you don't mind, I think our talk is over."  
  
Finch cleared his throat. He hated going this route, but Caffrey didn't leave him much of an option. "Let me make it easier for you, then. You're a fugitive on the run. You've disconnected your tracking anklet, and are suspected of killing two NYPD police officers. You either help us, or you'll be explaining everything to the police. I'm sure they'll believe you when you say you're completely innocent."  
  
Neal's smile disappeared. The man didn't look threatening, but Neal knew it wasn't an idle threat. Neal had no idea how this guy had managed to find him so quickly, and frankly, he had no idea  _how_  he was going to explain this to the police. "You're going to call the police on me?"  
  
"In less than five hours, Marten's men are going to try and kill Rhodes," Finch's voice rose as he spoke, trying to get the conman to understand the urgency of the matter. "I can prevent them from doing so, but Marten will then disappear without a trace. We need you, Mr. Caffrey."  
  
"To do what?"  
  
"Get Marten to confess to killing those police officers. We'll take care of the rest."  
  
And there it was. That 'we' again. "That's it, huh?"  
  
"From what I've heard about you, Mr. Caffrey, this should be quite simple for you."  
  
Neal didn't hurry to accept the offer, such as it was. He looked down at his bare feet. "I'll need a new suit."  
  
"Shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"A real suit. Not like the one your friend wears. I'll need to call a friend to bring me one."  
  
Finch sighed. "You are not going to call your Federal friends." He could not trust the Feds to focus on the right person.  
  
Neal grinned. "Oh, trust me, this is no Fed."  
  
  
\--------------  
  
Ever since the news broke that NYPD were looking for Neal - and it was hard to miss, since Neal's face featured in every newscast - Peter had been fielding calls. First from Elizabeth, then June, even Mozzie called. All wanting to know what the hell was happening and what he was doing about it. As if it was his fault that Neal was now wanted by the police. As if it was his fault that Neal had decided to throw all caution and common sense to the wind and break into a suspect's apartment. Was Neal even aware of how much trouble he was causing? Peter already had his speech ready for when he caught the errant CI.  
  
But that would be later. For now he had to make sure the FBI would find Neal first.  
  
"There's no way Caffrey could be involved in this." Peter was sitting in Hughes' office, and he couldn't believe he even needed to argue the point.  
  
Hughes held up a hand. "I agree it's unlikely, but we've got to face the facts. Caffrey is very probably facing jail time. He might be desperate."  
  
"He's never been violent before, why would he organize a police ambush?" Neal had almost killed Fowler, and shot Keller, but in both cases Neal had other people's interest in mind. Peter couldn't see Neal killing two innocent cops just to escape jail.  
  
Hughes stood up from his chair, circling his desk to come close to Peter. "Let's take this one step at a time. For now, Caffrey is FBI. Find him before the police does, or this discussion will be moot."  
  
Peter nodded, getting up and heading out. His phone rang, an unlisted number. Hoping it was Neal, Peter answered the call. "Burke."  
  
"Suit," Mozzie hurried to speak before Peter could override him. "I've got a message from Neal."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
  
\------------  
  
  
John had picked up Neal. It was a quiet drive, each man deep in his own thoughts. The two now approached a large warehouse. "We're at Marten's warehouse," John updated Harold.  
  
"I've got Rhodes on a bus out of town," Harold replied.  
  
John was impressed. "How did you manage to do that, Finch?"  
  
"You'd be surprised how persuasive I can be, Mr. Reese."  
  
"I have a vague recollection."  
  
"You're sure this is the place?" Neal interrupted. He was wearing a new (and dry) suit, care of Mozzie, which already made him feel a lot better. He just hoped Peter got the message.  
  
"Yes." John didn't feel like giving Caffrey the long story. Finch had said his analysis of Marten's finances had showed this is where the man was holed up, and Finch was almost always right.  
  
Neal shot him a quick look. "I'm sorry I left you stranded like that." He wasn't really, but 'John' was holding the gun, and they were going to be working together. "No hard feelings, right?"  
  
John barely spared him a glance. He got out of the car.  
  
Neal hurried to follow the taller man as he headed towards the warehouse. "So, how are we going to do this?"  
  
Instead of an answer, John lifted a finger to his lips, and pointed out two guards. They were smoking and joking with each other.  
  
A moment later they were on the floor, unconscious.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Come on." John stepped over them, and after a moment of hesitation, Neal followed him.  
  
They met several more guards inside, which John disarmed without a word. Neal was just starting to think he could get used to this when the taller guy held up a hand to stop him. "That's Marten over there." He pointed towards a little office area carved out of the warehouse.  
  
Neal nodded. He recognized him from the picture 'Harold' had shown him.  
  
John handed Neal a small audio recorder. "Take this."  
  
"Wait." Neal looked up at him in surprise. "You're not coming with me?"  
  
"I'll have you in sight at all times."  
  
Well, that was a comforting thought. "Great."  
  
  
\------------  
  
  
"Mr. Marten." Neal stepped out from behind a partition.  
  
Marten looked up from his work, not bothering to hide his surprise. Or irritation. "Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Mr. Rhodes' new business partner."  
  
Marten blinked, making the connection. "Neal Caffrey."  
  
"I see my name precedes me," Neal said with pride.  
  
Marten just harrumphed at that. "I no longer work with Mr. Rhodes."  
  
"I know. I called the police on him."  
  
"Really? And why was that?"  
  
"I wanted to get him out of the way."  
  
\--------------  
  
Peter parked the car across the street from the warehouse where Mozzie had told him Neal would be. Mozzie had insisted he come alone, but Peter wasn't that stupid. He brought Diana as backup.  
  
"You're sure this is the place?" she looked at it doubtfully.  
  
"So said Mozzie." Peter double checked his gun. "He said Neal would be here, and needed help."  
  
"Boss," Diana caught his attention. Peter looked up, following her line of sight. Two figures were sneaking towards the other side of the warehouse.  
  
Peter and Diana hurried to follow them. They met up with the two - which Peter now recognized as Detectives Carter and Fusco of the NYPD Homicide Task Force - by one of the side-entrances to the warehouse.  
  
"Detectives," Peter greeted them.  
  
"Agents." Carter pursed her lips at the sight of Peter. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I could ask the same question. Expecting a murder?"  
  
Truth be told, that's exactly what Carter was expecting. Or hoping to avoid. "We got a tip a suspect might be hiding here. You?"  
  
Peter smile was strained. "Funny, I also got a tip. You didn't seem to bring your TAC team along."  
  
Now it was Carter's turn to smile. "Neither did you."  
  
They all glared at each other for a long minute. Carter continued, "How about you tell me what you're really doing here. Who's inside?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Not yet knowing what this was about, Peter didn't want to mention Neal's name. "Which suspect are you after?"  
  
Diana exchanged a quick glance with Fusco. The police officer just shook his head. But before she could say something, they heard shots coming from within the building. All four law-enforcement agents drew their guns. Carter signaled Peter, and he nodded. They were going in.  
  
\--------------  
  
  
Neal was standing in front of Marten. The latter had just pulled out a gun.  
  
Neal chuckled. "You think those things scare me?"  
  
It wasn't the reaction Marten expected. He moved his gun just a bit and fired a shot. Neal could swear he felt the bullet whizzing by.  
  
"You think this is a toy, Caffrey?" He aimed the gun back at Neal. "I don't know how you're still alive, but I don't start a job if I don't intend to finish it."  
  
This was the moment when John was supposed to step in and do his stuff. But there was no John. This wasn't part of the plan.  
  
"Look." Neal raised his arms to ward off any future shooting. "Whatever disagreements we have, I'm sure we can work them out. Right?"  
  
Neal's change in tone caught Marten unaware. But then he grinned. "Wrong."  
  
Neal tried to think what else to say. "You sent those men to kill me."  
  
"That's right, and now I'm going to finish the job."  
  
"What about those police officers?"  
  
"Collateral damage."  
  
He was just about to pull the trigger when John finally showed up, gun in hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."  
  
"Really, and why's that?" Marten sneered.  
  
"Drop the gun!" Peter and Diana stepped out of the shadows, their guns trained on Marten.  
  
"Peter!" Relief was evident in Neal's voice.  
  
Marten swung his gun towards the new arrivals.  
  
Carter and Fusco appeared behind him. "Drop the gun!"  
  
Marten considered the situation and then slowly lowered his weapon to the floor. Carter quickly stepped up to cuff him.  
  
Peter meanwhile trained his gun on Reese. "Hands on your head."  
  
Carter looked over at him, surprised. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Peter's gun didn't move. "From where I stand, I see an assault suspect."  
  
"Really." Carter took a step away from Marten, drew her own gun, and aimed it at Neal. "Because from where I stand, I see a burglary suspect."  
  
Neal exchanged a glance with Reese. For a long moment, nobody moved.  
  
Carter finally put down her gun. "A word, Agent Burke?"  
  
Peter nodded. Holstering his gun, he followed Carter to a secluded corner.  
  
The discussion, as it were, didn't last long. The two law enforcement officers soon came back.  
  
Peter grabbed their cuffed perp with one hand, Neal with the other. "Come on, we're going."  
  
"But what about the man in the suit?" Neal tried to break away, but Peter kept a firm grip as he dragged Neal along. "Do you realize what level of conspiracy we have here?"  
  
"You prefer serving time for B&E?"  
  
Neal considered that for a moment.  
  
"Come on," Peter urged him along. "We'll get him next time. Besides, you've got some explaining to do."  
  
"About what?"  
  
Peter just shook his head.  
  
  
\--------------  
  
Carter watched as the FBI cleared out, taking their suspect along. She hoped John would appreciate the sacrifices she was making for him.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You gave up your collar for me?"  
  
"Didn't want you questioned by the Feds."  
  
"Much appreciated. What about Caffrey?"  
  
Carter shook her head. "That guy's courting trouble. I'm sure I'll catch up with him soon enough. So, tell me, any reason you waited to draw?"  
  
"Marten wasn't pointing a gun at  _me_ ," John explained. "And that arrogant son of a bitch deserved to be shaken up a bit."  
  
She shot him a long look.  
  
"Besides," John added with a smile, "I could have dropped Marten at any point."  
  
Having seen John's gun handling skills, Carter could believe that.  
  
"Mr. Reese." Finch's voice sounded in John's ear. "I hate to interrupt, but-"  
  
"Let me guess, Finch," John answered dryly. "We have a new number."  
  
"This one should be somewhat easier than our last number."  
  
"I'm sure." John didn't bother pointing out that  _anybody_  would be easier than their last number. "I'm on my way."  
  
THE END


End file.
